Tidings of Crumpled Shirts and Joy
by Shutupandlovetennant
Summary: Inspired from the prompt "I work at a department store and if you take out and unfold a shirt and leave it one more time I'm going to stuff it down your throat".


James sighs, reminding himself for the hundredth time today that he loves Christmas. It's his favorite time of year. In just a few hours, he can get out of here and properly enjoy it. Hot chocolate and Christmas movies have been calling his name all day. He can smell the peppermint now. (If he thinks about it, that's probably actual peppermint from the candy canes all over his department.) Maybe he'll even go over to his sister's house and help her put up her tree like he's been promising to…

He's dragged out of his daydream by a customer coming up and asking him about some toy he's honestly never heard of. He doesn't even work in the toy department. He points the frantic mother in the right direction and gets back to folding more sweaters.

He's been watching a woman for about thirty minutes now. Wait, no. That sounds much creepier than it actually is. She's going around looking at every single sweater and shirt they have, leaving a trail of unfolded chaos behind her. Every now and again, he goes after her and refolds a batch. To her credit, she does feebly attempt to fold each one back to the way it was. He appreciated the sentiment fifteen minutes ago, but now he's just ready for her to bloody pick something and get out of his department.

She moves far enough along that he can get to the latest line of shirts she's left strewn about and start refolding them. He can't possibly imagine who could be so picky that she needs to look at every single folded shirt in the men's department, but he's glad he doesn't have to shop for them.

Finally, _finally_ , she's satisfied with one. She clutches it in her hands as she walks away from the mess she's made. For a moment, their eyes meet and she gives him a sheepish smile. If he weren't so annoyed about the amount of work she'd made for him, he might have thought it was cute. Maybe. He manages to smile back at her in spite of his irritation.

"Happy Christmas," he says as she walks by. She gives him an even bigger smile, and he reminds himself that he's very annoyed with her.

Maybe she won't return. Maybe she's finished shopping here, now that she's looked at every single piece of clothing they have.

RTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRT

She returns. Of course she does. What else could he have possibly expected? Maybe he could teach her to fold these stupid clothes; then she could destroy all she wanted without being a pain in his arse.

He puts on his biggest customer smile, the one reserved for the real troublemakers, but as soon as he takes one step in her direction, he hears a crash. His shoulders sag and he turns around to find two teenagers have shoved over an entire rack while fighting. Their mothers rush over and apologise profusely. He nods and gives them a tight smile, already working on righting the rack.

When he finally finishes with that, he catches sight of the blonde woman shuffling out of his department, a tie in hand. He feels a small pang that he won't get to talk to her like he meant to, but dismisses it quickly.

He isn't sure if it's possible, but she might have left an even bigger mess than last time. Oh, this woman. She's a menace. Why had he even wanted to talk to her?

She won't be back, right? Two visits is enough. How many men can she possibly need to buy clothes for?

RTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRT

His spirits are lifted considerably when one of his favourite customers comes in. She's a little elderly lady who shops here exclusively for any and all gifts she buys the men in her life. Every time she visits, she comes straight to him.

"Hello, love," she says warmly, opening her arms for a hug as soon as she sees him. He doesn't have a chance to decide whether to accept or not, because once she's in arms reach, she grabs him and holds him tight. As much as he loves his job, it's gotten really tough around the holidays, and he accepts the warm hug gratefully.

"Hello, Millie," he says, grinning down at her once she releases him.

"How are they treating you here these days?"

As they chat, she begins looking through the clothes, holding this and that up for his opinion like always. Shopping for her husband today, she mentions.

"Oh, you know, same as ever!" he says, managing to bolster his voice with a bit of the cheer it's been lacking lately.

"Don't you lie to me," she says, never looking up from the dark blue sweater she's considering.

"I would never," he promises. He points to a lighter blue one, thinking her husband would probably prefer it to the other.

At this she does look up, and rolls her eyes at him. He can't help but laugh as she hands him the light blue sweater to hold. She never gets a basket, much happier to make him lug everything around for her. He doesn't mind, not really. He likes to tease her once they get to the register and act like his arms are falling off, but it's all fun. Millie is a joy.

"It's been harder than usual," he admits after a moment of silence. He knew well that she wouldn't speak to him again until he answered her truthfully.

"They work you too hard this time of year," she says definitively. As usual, her tone leaves no room for argument. He cracks a smile. "You're good at your job. They have to work you hard because those flakes don't do anything for the holidays. But you, you've always got a smile. Always got something nice to say. You keep that, James. Don't let those people take that from you. Promise me."

"I promise, Millie."

RTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRT

He keeps Millie's words in mind all week, and they help him keep his head up. He works with a quick smile and a witty remark always ready on the tip of his tongue. It makes him feel better to see a few of the people who look absolutely miserable smile at him after he helps them or says something funny.

Things pile up, though. The next Monday he learns that he'll be working late on Christmas Eve. No less than five angry mothers yell at him for something he has no control over, and some kid spills a Coke all over his favorite Chucks. It's a bit harder to keep his grin up, but he tries his best. For Millie, and for himself.

"Oh, you are bloody kidding me."

He can see her familiar blonde head approaching his department. He realizes with a start that he doesn't even know her name. Not that he cares. All she is is a … a trouble- wreaking mess-maker. He'll work on a better label later. Right now he's busy looking at the ground and cursing the fact that he took his break already. What did he do to deserve this? This plague of a woman, coming in here and wrecking everything and smiling at him with that _stupid_ bloody smile every time she catches his eye. She sticks her tongue between her teeth sometimes, and he feels like she might be teasing him. He doesn't know why. What did he ever do to her?

It isn't fair. Why doesn't she ever come on Jack's shift? Jack would love her, with her warm eyes and soft-looking hair and teasing grin. He wouldn't mind one bit that she tears through the store like a tornado, leaving behind a path of destruction. He'd probably use it as an excuse to flirt with her. James shakes his head, dispelling all thoughts of Jack chatting up this trouble-wreaking mess-maker.

He takes a deep breath and steels himself. He needs to try even harder now to stay boisterous. She's just here, shopping for Christmas gifts like everyone else. He doesn't know what it is about her that gets under his skin so much.

She begins her warpath, but something is different. It almost looks like she's being more careful, only picking up a few shirts every now and then, and doing her dead-level best to fold them back. She does it well enough that he supposes he really doesn't have to go back and redo it. She's giving him more of those little smiles, and he still isn't sure what to make of them. Regardless, a little bit of the tension leaves his shoulders. Maybe she'll be quick today. She must know everything they have to offer by now, anyway. He resolves once again to go and speak to her; maybe she'll be nice. She's got kind eyes and a smile that comes easily. Not that he's been looking.

A loud commotion behind them startles both of them. They turn around to see two women furiously fighting over the last red cashmere scarf they have in stock. He takes a small moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath. This isn't going to end well for him.

He rushes over, trying to get in between them without hurting either of them (or getting punched himself). He manages to get his shoulders between them and is reaching out to push them apart when a stray elbow hits him right in the nose.

He crumples to his knees, clutching at his face, looking up at the two women in shock. They don't even take note of him, not really. The only thing they notice is security barreling up and dragging them apart. The scarf is in two pieces on the ground in front of him.

When he was falling, he faintly registered a loud crash behind him. He turns around, still holding his nose, and sees her. The blonde woman. She's knocked a display down; clothes are strewn about the floor around her. She at least has the decency to look ashamed. This is it. The straw that breaks his aching back.

James struggles to his feet, dropping his hand from his nose and taking a few steps towards her. She steps back, running into the wall behind her. Something in the back of his mind tells him to just shut up and walk away right now, but he can't make himself do it.

"I'm –" she begins. He cuts her off straight away, his entire frame shaking.

"What the _bloody hell_ is _wrong_ with you people?" he demands. He hears his manager call his name, but ignores her. "Every week you come in here and wreck my department. Every week. Like a bleeding tornado came through. And now this? What did I do to you, hmm? Why don't you go ruin someone else's Christmas?"

"James," his manager calls sharply, "that's enough."

His head turns toward the irate woman. This may well be the end of his job.

"I'm taking my break," he says, turning around and stalking out.

"You already took your break, James," she calls behind him. He ignores her, walking straight out of the store.

RTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRT

He takes about half an hour outside in the bitter cold to get his thoughts together. The crisp air burns his lungs and clears his head.

While he's sitting outside, a few different thoughts swirl through his head. The promise he made Millie. The hurt in the blonde woman's eyes. The fact he'll almost certainly be sacked for this. He sorts through it all the best that he can.

By the time he feels ready to go back inside and face the music, his cheeks are stinging with the cold, and he's certain they must be flushed bright pink.

He walks back inside and goes straight to his manager. No reason to avoid it. She sits him down in her office and offers him a biscuit. He takes it, but his stomach is churning too much to eat it.

"James," she beings gently, "that was unacceptable."

He nods, looking down at his Coke-stained shoes. Really, he does enjoy his job. He doesn't want to get fired. He likes interacting with people. It's just the bloody holidays. They turn people into monsters, and these last few weeks have been hell.

"But, I know today has been… particularly hard on you," she continues in the same gentle tone. "I think you should take the rest of the afternoon off. Go clear your head. Get something to eat; I know you haven't had lunch yet. Come back in tomorrow with your head on straight, yeah?"

"I'm – I'm not fired?" he asks, mouth gaping open. She looks surprised, and shakes her head.

"Of course you aren't! You got elbowed in the face, James. You're entitled to a little breakdown."

He stutters for a moment, searching for words. "Thank you."

"Now if it happens again…"

"It won't! Never again," he swears, jumping up from his seat.

"Oh! Don't you want to fill in an injury form?" she asks, standing and holding the paper out to him. He shakes his head.

"Nah, I'm fine. Didn't even bleed. Just a little sore," he assures her, rushing out of the office. He doesn't want to wait around too long, lest she changes her mind.

RTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRT

As he makes his way to the food court, he can't help but think about her. The blonde woman, that is, not his manager. The look in her eyes when he'd yelled at her… It was awful. He's awful. He wonders if she'll come back. For the first time since he's met her, he hopes she does. He needs to apologise.

He doubts she'll come back, though. He wouldn't.

He gets a quick Chinese and looks around for an empty table. Something else catches his eye, though. It's her. The blonde woman She's sitting alone at a table in the corner, her head bowed over a slice of pizza. Even from here he can tell she's upset. He considers bolting out of the food court with his lunch and not looking back. He can't, though. He ruined her day being a right prick. He just hopes she doesn't hit him too.

She never looks up while he's walking over. When he gets closer, he can see she's studying some sort of list on the table to keep from looking at the people around her. Even when he's standing right next to her table she doesn't notice him. Or if she does, she doesn't look up at him.

He clears his throat, steeling himself. "D'you mind if I – "

"Yell at me some more?" she asks, eyes still trained on her list.

"Er, no… Can I sit with you?" he asks. He's every ounce the awkward little kid he used to be. Finally, she meets his eyes. She considers him for a moment before nodding at the empty seat across from her.

"Thanks," he breathes, sliding into the chair. For a few seconds, they just stare at each other. Soon, he realizes she's waiting on him to say something. Right. He's the one who was a knob today, not her. Well, not as much as him.

"I'm sorry," he begins. He stops after a moment, unsure of where to go from here. She raises her eyebrows and his shoulders slump when he realizes this will be more difficult than he hoped.

"I know I was terrible to you. It's just… I've had a terrible morning," he continues. Her eyes soften for a moment, and he rushes on, a glimmer of hope in his voice. "I found out I've got to work late on Christmas Eve. Tons of ladies yelled at me because we ran out of some toy, and I don't even work in the toy department. I have never worked in the toy department. I don't know how they even find me to yell at me about it, it's on the other side of the store. Why me? Then some kid spilled a drink on my favorite Chucks."

He twists in his chair and lifts one foot in evidence, the off-white canvas stained brown. She bites her bottom lip, even more sympathy and something close to amusement filling her hazel eyes.

"Then I got _elbowed in the face over a scarf_ ," he finishes, reaching up to touch his still- sore nose. She sighs, all the tension finally draining from her shoulders. She reaches across the table and brushes her pointer finger lightly down the bridge of his nose. He jumps a little, the contact surprising him.

"I'm sorry," she says. She sits back, fidgeting with her napkin.

"Well," he drawls, "you didn't hit me. Yet."

She laughs. It lights up her whole face in a way he has to try not to find captivating, "'M not gonna hit you."

"Thank you," he says. He takes a bite of his lunch for the first time as she studies him.

"I'm sorry I knocked over your display, though," she says. She looks back down at the table. "And for makin' such a mess of your department every time I came in."

"People do that all the time," he assures her around a mouthful of noodles. He hears his sister's voice in his head telling him he's being rude talking with his mouth full. "People don't always knock over entire displays, though. What happened?"

"When I saw you get hit, I was tryin' to get to you. To get those women away and check your face. I didn't even notice the stupid display; I was worried about you. Those women were nutters."

Great. Now he feels much, much worse for the things he'd said to her.

"I'm a knob," he says, hanging his head. She laughs. It's a nice sound, one he wouldn't mind hearing more often.

"Are you gonna get in trouble at work?" she asks, seeming concerned. "I'll talk to your boss. Tell 'em it wasn't your fault. That I'm not upset or anything. You're good at your job, you shouldn't lose it because of one terrible day."

"No, my manager talked with me. She told me to take the rest of the day off and get my head on right," he says. For the first time, she takes a bite of her pizza. He can't help but think it must be cold by now.

"Good, that's good," she says, nodding. Her face is clear and open; the dark cloud that was hovering over their table has dissipated.

"She did warn me not to ever let it happen again," he muses, sipping from his water. She laughs, shaking her head.

"No, I'd imagine you shouldn't," she says. She gives him that smile, the one with her tongue between her teeth. He can't help what it does to him this time. His stupid heart skips a beat, though he tries to ignore it.

"Why'd you keep coming back?" he asks after a few beats of silence.

"Christmas shopping," she says, looking at him like he's an idiot. "I've been buyin' presents as I can. When I get paid, you know."

He nods. It seems obvious, now that he really considers it without the haze of irritation that had been coloring his thoughts. Of course she hadn't been coming back to torture him, she was on a budget, just like everyone else, himself included. He laughs at himself, cheeks going a little pink.

"What?" she asks with a grin. He shakes his head.

"Nothing," he says, "it's stupid."

"C'mon, tell me," she pushes, leaning towards him. As much as he'd like to stay clammed up, something about her face, her teasing grin and sparkling eyes, makes the words spill out before he can catch them.

"I thought… I thought you were coming back for me," he says, a full blush creeping up his neck now. Her eyes go wide, and he scrambles to clarify. "To torture me, I mean."

She lets out a breathy chuckle, taking another bite before answering him. "I wasn't coming back to torture you."

"No, of course not. How self-centred am I?" he asks with a laugh. She pulls her lips in, biting them anxiously.

"I _was_ being self-centred, wasn't I?" he asks, locking eyes with her.

"I said I didn't come back to torture you, not that I didn't come back _for_ you," she admits. She looks away, and it's her turn to blush.

"What?" he asks, brow furrowed. She mutters something under her breath, too low and fast for him to understand. He lifts an eyebrow, waiting for her to repeat herself. She sighs in annoyance.

"I thought you were cute," she says. He thinks her cheeks might catch fire soon.

"You – I – what?"

"I kept coming back because you're cute!" she bursts, crossing her arms over her chest. He can feel the stupid expression on his face.

"You said you were spreading out your cheques," he says. She rolls her eyes, and the corner of her mouth twitches up.

"Yeah, but you don't work at the only store in London. There's a million of them in this shopping centre alone." Her blush is fading, and he thinks now she's silently laughing at how slow he is.

"All those smiles you gave me," he begins.

She gives him another one, and his heart skips a beat again.

"I thought you were teasing me. Leaving a mess and laughing at me," he admits.

"I was flirtin' with you," she says, exasperated.

"By leaving a mess for me to clean?"

"No, the smiles," she says, laughing. "The smiles were flirting. The messes were accidents, I just really can't get the hang of folding the clothes like you lot do."

"You think I'm cute?"

"If a little slow to catch up, yeah," she says. They're both blushing now.

He has to admit, even though she was making his day much harder by giving him tonnes of new work, he'd always found his eyes drawn to her, and not just because she was running amok in his store. If he'd really hated it all that much, he could have walked to another section of the department and waited on some other unlucky sod to clean up her mess, after all. Something about her had gotten under his skin, even though he was too annoyed to admit it at the time.

"So… if I asked you out on a date…" he hedges, biting his bottom lip. She nods, encouraging.

"Would you… Er, would you like to – hold on!" he cuts himself off, suddenly remembering something very important. Worry sparks behind her eyes.

"I'm James," he says, extending his hand across the table. She takes it with a giggle.

"So I heard," she says. "Rose."

"Rose," he repeats, tasting it on his tongue. "Rose, would you like to go on a date? With me?"

She giggles again, nodding. "I'd love to, James."


End file.
